Of Blood and Kin
by ladymacbeth99
Summary: That Jotun warrior never grabbed Loki's arm and revealed his true nature to him. Instead of banishing Thor immediately after nearly starting a war on Jotunheim, Odin first takes his eldest son aside and tells him of Loki's heritage. Basically, an AU in which Thor finds out his brother is a Frost Giant before Loki himself does.
1. Chapter 1

For a moment, there was nothing but deafening silence in the Bifröst Observatory as Thor and Odin glared at each other. Loki watched them both nervously. The three of them still had snow in their hair and on their shoulders from Jotunheim. Thor was still breathing heavily, his fist clenched around Mjolnir, his battle rage contained but not spent. How dare his father whisk them away like they were children caught in some mischief?

Finally, in a low voice, Odin growled, "Have you any idea what you have done?"

Thor's temper resurged. "Father, while you were content to sit here and do nothing as those _monsters_ plotted against us—"

"A king knows when to pick his battles!"

"Why won't you just destroy them all? Their race is nothing but a menace, and I would have saved the Realms from their villainy."

"You are acting like a child, Thor. You know nothing about real war. You think of nothing but yourself. You nearly allowed one of your friends to be killed."

Thor shook his head disbelievingly. After all he had heard growing up about his father's daring exploits, how dare the old man lecture him about caution? But Odin was apparently not finished.

"You are a vain, greedy, cruel boy," he snarled.

That was the last straw. Thor burst out, "And you are an old man and a fool!"

For a moment, Odin's blazing anger dimmed, and he looked weary. "Yes. I have been a fool," he said softly.

Stepping forward, Loki ventured timidly, "Father? I—"

Without taking his gaze off of Thor, Odin snapped, "Leave us. I will deal with you later."

Thor had hoped for a moment that Loki's silver tongue would get them out of trouble as usual, but his brother looked as if he had been slapped. Loki stammered, "But—"

"Now, Loki."

His brother slunk reluctantly out of the Observatory, so that Thor and his father were alone.

"I have been a fool," Odin repeated, "to keep certain truths from you. But now you must understand the gravity of what you have done."

He started to pace across the floor. His manner had become cold and guarded. "Tell me, Thor, do you love your brother?"

Until now, Thor's pulse had been racing, his limbs restless, his mind still in a frenzy. But this question took him so aback that he finally became motionless.

"Of course," he said, nonplussed. "Why would you even ask me that?"

Ignoring his question, Odin watched him with a calculating expression as he asked, "Would you ever harm him?"

"Father," Thor exclaimed, disgusted at the thought, "you know I would die before I ever—"

"And you consider his life to be valuable?"

Thor's rage was suddenly cooling into discomfort; he was disturbed by the direction of this conversation. His father was trying to prove something, though he was not sure what.

"Father, what has this to do with Jotunheim?" he demanded. "Of course I love Loki, you know I would die for him, so why are you asking me as if you are in doubt?"

Odin smiled grimly. "There is something you must see, my son."

With Gungir, he created a circular window in the air. Images appeared inside it—a dark snowy landscape littered with bodies, not unlike the scene they had just left. Thor knew his father could scry, but had never seen it done before. Was this the future they were seeing, perhaps?

Stepping closer, however, Thor understood the scene was not of the future, but of the past. A younger version of his father appeared, his missing eye still bloody as if it had been recently carved out.

"This is the war with Laufey," Thor realized aloud. Surely his father was not about to teach him some tiresome lesson about the cost of war. He had seen enough bloodshed firsthand. He was not an imbecile.

"Yes. Watch carefully, there is something you must see."

The younger Odin was walking among the corpses, checking for survivors among his men. The Jotun fortress was silent except for the howling wind.

But then another sound made itself heard above the wind. The younger Odin's head snapped up, listening to it in disbelief: the faintest cry of an infant. His brow furrowed, but he straightened up and followed the sound. The cries grew louder, more pitiful. Odin stood before a massive set of stone doors, slightly ajar, carved in Jotun runes—the entrance to some kind of temple.

Thor looked over at his present-day father and interjected, "I don't see what is so important about—"

The present Odin silenced him with a glare and redirected Thor's attention to his younger self, who was stepping over bodies in the ransacked temple, towards a stone dais in the center, the cries becoming louder and louder.

It was a baby. A Jotun child, left alone, its tiny limbs shaking with cold and hunger, its blue face screwed into a frown. An unusually small one, Thor realized when the past-Odin slowly gathered the child in his arms.

_What are you doing, Father?_ Thor wanted to demand, but his voice stuck in his throat.

The younger Odin smiled hesitantly. Even with the gruesome wound on his face, his expression was gentle. He looked—well—he looked like a father holding his own child for the first time. As Thor watched, the Jotun child began to transform before their eyes, its blue, engraved skin fading to a pale hue, its red eyes inverting to green. The baby, which now looked like a child of the Æsir, stopped crying and smiled up at Odin, who looked rather astonished at the change.

"Now do you understand, my son?" asked the present-day Odin. His voice sounded hoarse.

"I…"

A vague suspicion had begun to form in the back of Thor's mind, but he rebelled against it. No, it was impossible. It was nonsensical.

The present Odin sighed. "Watch, Thor."

The scene in the scrying-glass rippled and was replaced with another, a little further in time. The Odin of the past, his missing eye recently bandaged, was sitting by the hearth in the master suite of the castle. Frigga sat beside him, rocking the foundling infant, cooing softly to him.

"No," Thor breathed. No, this was all a mistake. This couldn't mean what he thought it meant.

The scene changed again. Now it showed a young Thor, barely more than a toddler, kneeling on the rug of his old nursery. Across from him sat the baby, sucking his thumb, now sporting black curly hair. The little Thor made a silly face so that the baby would laugh.

_No._ This couldn't be…

The scene sped further into the future. Thor and the baby were boys now, racing their horses through the woods together.

"No, no, no," Thor whispered, though it was quite clear now. "Father, you don't mean…"

"Yes," said Odin coldly. "Your brother, your dearest companion, is one of those 'creatures' whose lives you consider so expendable."

The scrying-glass showed one more image—an adolescent Thor throwing an arm around Loki, the two of them laughing—before disappearing.

Thor ran a hand through his hair. His heart was pounding, but he felt no urge to fight. For the first time in his life, he wanted to disappear. Loki—his brother—who had been a constant at his side for as long as he could remember—a Frost Giant?

"Why," he demanded, his voice shaking, "_why_ did you take him, Father?"

Odin hesitated.

"You saw yourself that he was abandoned. Laufey left him to die because of his size." In a softer voice, he added, "And I had seen enough dead giants that day."

_Laufey's son…_ Thor's stomach turned. He had so many questions he did not even know where to begin.

"Why did you make him look…more like us?" he asked.

"I did not," his father replied. "Loki is a shape-shifter, as many Jotuns are. He changed when I picked him up—by instinct, I suppose."

"Who else knows about this?"

"Your mother, of course. Heimdall. A small number of servants, there was no avoiding that."

The pieces clicked together in Thor's mind. "Loki does not know."

Odin's face darkened. "I _forbid_ you to tell him, Thor."

The command seemed to echo through the Observatory—it was a king's injunction, reinforced with magic. Thor felt something constricting his throat for a moment before relaxing, and he understood that the spell would prevent him from disobeying. He was physically incapable of telling his brother the truth.

"Father!" he protested. "You have lied to us both, for all this time?"

"Loki is my son just as you are," Odin said firmly. "His origin is of no consequence, and it is not your place to reveal it. However, I hope this gives you much to contemplate in your exile."

"My exile?"

Thor's voice broke. But he felt too sick with shame to argue or resist as his father tore the insignia from his armor—he cried out, feeling his strength being ripped from him as well. Mjolnir fell from his numb hands and clattered to the floor.

"You are unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed," Odin declared solemnly. "In the name of my father, and his father before him, I cast you out."

With those words, the Bifröst opened, and Thor found himself being hurled out of Asgard.

* * *

****Author's Note:** I must admit, I'm not 100% sure where this is going. I have some ideas, but not a really concrete plan. It will probably just be a few chapters, not as long as my other multichapter fic.

I'm sure I'm not the only one that was a little disappointed we never got to directly see Thor's reaction to finding out the truth of Loki's heritage. Because, really. In movie one, I don't think he really saw Frost Giants as people. Then he finds out the person he cares for most was one of them all along. This is going to be my attempt at addressing that.


	2. Chapter 2

Odin whispered a spell over Mjolnir before throwing it through the Bifröst. _Whosoever hold this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor._

As he watched the rainbow tunnel carry it away, he murmured, "Come back to me when you are ready, my son."

Outside of the Observatory, his second son was waiting anxiously. After all the memories that this day had dredged up, Odin could not meet Loki's eyes.

"Father?" Loki was usually unruffled and restrained when speaking to him, but now his voice held naked panic. "Father, where's Thor?"

"Banished," Odin responded shortly. His tone made it clear that he did not wish to discuss this further, and he knew Loki would dare not press him. He strode purposefully back to the palace, taking such quick steps that Loki had to jog to catch up with him.

* * *

Thor landed on his hands and knees, something cool and coarse beneath him. The roar of the Bifröst was still ringing in his ears, but the lights swirling around him had vanished. He tried to pull himself to his feet, but was suddenly so weak and shaky that his arms collapsed beneath his own weight.

_He took my power_, Thor realized with sinking horror. _I'm mortal now. With mortal strength._

Even mortals were probably not this feeble but—perhaps from the physical strain of the magic being ripped from his body—he barely had the strength to lift his head and take in his surroundings.

He coughed. The substance beneath his was sand, which he had unfortunately discovered by inhaling some. Perhaps he landed near a seashore, though he couldn't hear any water. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, he saw nothing but hills of sand for miles around, and unfamiliar stars above him.

_Norns, where am I?_

After a moment of catching his breath, Thor forced himself onto his feet. His muscles were sore and he swayed where he stood. His head was spinning, and it wasn't just physical. He knew the emotions would engulf him eventually, but he needed to be practical first. Where could he find water or shelter in this strange wasteland? He didn't know the stars, so they could not guide him.

He could try calling out for Heimdall, but something stuck in his throat before he could make a sound. Though he was still too dazed to process everything he had just learned, he could feel waves of shame encroaching, ready to overwhelm him when the numbness wore off. He deserved this exile. He didn't dare raise his eyes to the heavens. Not now.

Before he could try wandering in one direction or another, he heard a noise approaching, a loud rattling sound. He groaned—he'd arrived only minutes ago and already had to fight a large sand beast with only his hands for weapons?

_SLAM._

Something collided with Thor and sent him sprawling on the ground again.

Then a woman's voice, trembling with suppressed panic, came from above him.

"Do me a favor and don't be dead."

Thor had to squint to see through the sudden onslaught of bright light. He found himself face to face with a beautiful woman, her curtain of chestnut hair swaying in the breeze. Behind her was a younger woman wearing a cap and a wary expression, and a white-haired man who seemed frozen in astonishment.

_ Recognizable life forms, thank Odin._

"What—what realm is this?" he croaked.

The woman closest to him frowned, as if his question didn't make sense. The one in the hat answered in a guarded voice, "Uh…you're in New Mexico?"

New Mexico? He had never heard of such a place. Had the All-Father sent him outside the Nine Realms to some backwater planet, so that he could never find a way to return? No, no, this couldn't be.

He lurched to his feet, and the two women stepped back. It was finally beginning to sink in. Thor was exiled from his home, cut off from his family and friends. He might never see them again. He could never tell his brother that he was sorry—

"Hey, are you okay?" the first woman asked. Her voice was softer than the other's, and she sounded concerned.

"Yeah, sorry Jane hit you with her car," the second woman said loudly.

"Are you going to need to go to the hospital?" said the woman called Jane.

Thor was not really listening. It was hard to focus on anything. He was still so disoriented from being flung to another realm, still reeling from all that had happened. He tried to walk away from them, but he was staggering like a drunkard, and the woman in the hat caught his arm when he stumbled.

"I'm not wounded, I—the Bifröst has never had this effect on me before," he tried to explain.

"Jane, what's he talking about?" she called over her shoulder, sounding alarmed.

"No idea. Where did he come from? What's he doing all the way out here, anyway?"

Thor was normally in the habit of formally introducing himself, as the Crown Prince of Asgard ought to. But that identity, that reputation, was lost to him now.

"I am of Asgard," he told them simply, "and my father has exiled me here."

"Wow, Jane, maybe you hit him harder than we thought," she said dryly.

"Oh God, don't say that, Darcy."

Thor interrupted, "Good maidens, I would be indebted to you if you directed me to the nearest source of water."

"Right, um, one second…I think I've got some water bottles in the van," said Jane, disappearing into the large metal vehicle that had rammed into Thor.

The older man, who had remained silent all this time, was scrutinizing Thor deeply.

"Where did you say you were from?" the man asked, his brow furrowed.

Had Thor fallen somewhere so distant that these people had never heard of his home? "Asgard. It is the realm of the Æsir, ruled by—"

"I know what Asgard is," the man snapped. "What I want to know is, what you're playing at."

Thor did not understand, but he was saved from responding by Jane's return with a clear flask of water, which he gulped down gratefully.

"We can give you a lift back into town, if you want," she told him hesitantly.

"Is there civilization nearby?"

"Yeah, Puente Antiguo is just a couple miles from here." She pursed her lips, her eyebrows pulled together in a perplexed frown. "So, did you just decide to take a walk out here, or what? Did you not see the crazy lightning storm?"

Thor's lips twitched in spite of himself. These people did not even recognize the Bifröst when they saw it? What a strangely ignorant world he had landed in. "The 'storm' is what brought me here," he explained, hoping that was simple enough for them to understand.

Jane's eyes grew enormous. "Are you telling me you were _inside_ it?"

"Yes."

She gripped his arm, suddenly passionate. "Well, I've got a few questions then, if you don't mind," she said. Her voice sounded like it was restraining almost maniacal excitement.

But the other woman, Darcy, intervened. "Whoa, Jane, maybe science is gonna have to wait for a second. He just got tossed around by a tornado."

Jane took a deep breath. "Right. Uh, maybe you want to come back to my place, I've got a trailer just outside of town. If you haven't got anywhere else to stay."

_How fortunate, that the first beings I encounter are hospitable_, he thought. Thor bowed his head. "I am much indebted to you, Lady Jane."

But before they could say anything else, the older man took Jane aside and spoke in a low voice, probably thinking he was out of Thor's earshot.

"Jane, what are you doing? The guy's obviously unbalanced. You heard what he was going on about—Bifröst and Asgard and magic—and you really want to invite him into your house?"

Thor smirked. So these creatures were still familiar with these names, even if they had faded into myth.

"Okay, maybe he's crazy," Jane said dismissively, "but he was _inside the storm_, Erik. Think of what he could tell us."

"I just don't want anything to happen to you."

From the way he spoke to her, Thor wondered if the man called Erik was Jane's father.

But Jane didn't sound worried. "He doesn't seem violent. Besides, we can't just leave him out here in the desert. It doesn't seem like he's got anywhere else to go."

Erik sighed. "Well then I want to stay and keep an eye on him."

"Oh don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him," Darcy said suddenly, smirking. "_I_ don't mind."

Jane rolled her eyes but otherwise didn't acknowledge her.

"Plus I've got a Taser, if he tries anything," Darcy added.

The four piled into the strange metal vehicle, which Darcy called a "van," and which rattled so much that Thor wondered how it was still holding together. Obviously this realm did not have access to air skiffs, or surely they would have used one instead of rumbling over the uneven ground—but even a team of horses would have been more reliable, he thought.

Eventually they stopped at a small dwelling place, rather like a cabin made of metal.

As they got out of the van, Jane turned to him suddenly. "I'm Jane, by the way, Jane Foster."

She extended her hand, but looked surprised when he kissed it politely.

"Thor, son of Odin," he sighed. He had decided not to hide his identity from them—after all, if they were kind enough to give him shelter for the night, he owed them honesty at least. Even if that meant they might be aware of his crimes, his shame. It felt strange, simply giving his name, without the titles that usually accompanied it. But he was nothing but Thor now. Not a prince, not a warrior, not a hero.

Erik goggled at him. "Thor…as in, the god of thunder?"

The epithet stopped Thor in his tracks. "This is _Midgard_," he realized, a relieved grin slowly spreading across his face. "We are on Midgard, are we not? The mortals used to call me that, long ago!"

Thank the ancestors, he was still in the Nine Realms.

Erik muttered to Jane, "Are you still sure you want to do this?"

"Maybe his parents were just mythology nerds and gave him that name," she hissed back. "It doesn't mean he _actually thinks_ he's—"

"It has been many centuries since I visited your realm," Thor interrupted; "forgive me for not recognizing it. Your lives are so short that things change so very quickly around here."

Jane, Erik, and Darcy all exchanged looks before leading him inside.

Jane Foster showed him to the only spare room in her dwelling, where he could sleep for the night. Thor's makeshift bed was what Jane had called a "futon," and his feet hung off the end because it was so short. While she rummaged through her cupboards for blankets, he was finally left alone with his thoughts for a moment.

He buried his face in his hands. _What am I going to do? Is this realm to be my prison now? I cannot impose on these people indefinitely._

Thor already missed his family with a sharp ache, but his shame kept him from expressing it.

_The Jotuns I've killed probably had families too. Wives, children, parents…brothers…_

Jane stepped back into the room with a woolen blanket under her arm. "Here, um…if you get cold, there's another one in the cupboard," she said, handing it to him.

"You are very kind, Jane Foster," he said with a smile, although it didn't touch his eyes.

She colored a little under his gaze, as if unused to these kinds of statements. "Sorry it's not much," she said, looking around the cramped room with a sheepish expression.

Indeed, he wondered what possessed Midgardians to insert metal springs into their sleeping contraptions when stuffing a mattress with feathers would do. Still, she was offering what she had, as a gesture of hospitality, and he was grateful for that. Norns knew it was more than he deserved.

"Do not worry, I have slept in far more rustic accommodations than these," he assured her and it was true. On his adventures through the realms, he had spent nights on mountaintops, in caves, in tents, in seedy inns in Nidavellir where they'd had guard their purses against thieves. Sometimes there were rats under their beds (or on one memorable occasion, a nest of newly-hatched lyndwyrms). He had spent nights camped under the stars, with just a rock for a pillow. Then of course there was that time in Nornheim, when they'd had to sleep in a tree. _That_ had been a strange adventure.

But he had never had to do it alone.

"You okay?" Jane asked him. "You look a million miles away."

"Yes, I was just…forgive me," he said quickly. "I worry for my brother, that is all."

"You have a brother?"

"Aye. A little brother," he explained. "And I fear I have left him in an uncomfortable situation at home. I have…" He took a deep breath, steadying his voice. "I have wronged him greatly, though he does not know it."

Jane nodded, as if she understood. But she couldn't possibly know, Thor thought. She couldn't know what it was like to discover her entire family was built on a lie. To discover that she had betrayed the person she loved most, without even knowing it.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," she said. Thor's anguish must have been plain on his face. "I'll let you get some sleep."

She left. Thor pulled the blanket over himself, trying to push the nauseous, burning guilt from his mind so that he could succumb to his exhaustion.

* * *

Back in Asgard, Loki paced across his bedroom floor, still processing the day's events. Thor, banished to some remote realm, stripped of his rank and his powers. How had things gotten so out of Loki's control? Thor was supposed to have been caught in the Bifröst Observatory before they ever reached Jotunheim. In Loki's plan, Thor would be in Odin's study at this very moment, receiving an endless lecture about his recklessness, and how mistaken he'd been to think Thor was ready for the throne. And Loki would be feeling smug and satisfied at seeing his invincible brother knocked off his pedestal for a change. But no serious damage would have been done.

So how had it all gone so wrong?

_This is my fault. I need to go to Father and tell him everything, tell him I let the Frost Giants ruin the coronation. Then he'll bring Thor back._

As much as his guilt sickened him, however, the thought of punishment was even worse. After all, it wasn't _entirely_ Loki's fault. Yes, he set the trap, but Thor walked into it willingly enough. It would never have worked if not for Thor's arrogance and rashness. Loki had not forced him to do anything.

The more Loki paced and pondered, the more his anger solidified. It was much more comfortable to blame Thor than to feel lost and helpless. If Thor had simply listened to him, just once, he would still be here. But no. Because his brother was too self-absorbed to notice him, Loki was suddenly alone. Why should Loki have to clean up Thor's mess for the thousandth time? Why not allow Father to teach him a lesson?

There was a knock on the door. Loki composed himself with a few deep breaths and called, "Enter."

An Einherjar came into the room with a respectful bow. "The king summons you, My Prince."

Loki cursed internally. _It seems I will not escape punishment after all. Does he know?_

"Do you know what for?" he asked the guard in a carefully measured tone.

"No, My Prince."

Loki followed the guard reluctantly, trying to ignore the way his stomach was tying itself into knots. Instead of leading him to the All-Father's study, as Loki would have expected for a private conversation, the Einherjar led him to the throne room.

_Am I to be publically castigated? Even for Father, that seems harsh. Is he truly that angry?_

Loki gulped, then walked through the golden double doors, trying to hold his head high. He delighted in mischief, but being caught was another matter entirely.

His father was seated on his throne, Gungir in hand. Loki tried not to shiver at Odin's piercing, stern, one-eyed stare—his dread was absolutely childish. Mother stood in Father's shadow, hands twisting together anxiously. She did not descend to embrace her son, as she would normally have done. There was a strange formality in the atmosphere that made Loki uneasy.

"You summoned me, Father?" Thankfully, his voice did not crack.

"Yes, Loki." The king shifted in his seat, suddenly looking weary. "The Odinsleep approaches and I must make preparations."

Loki blinked. Perhaps this is an unrelated matter after all. He kept his expression smooth and polite.

"With your brother banished," Odin continued with a heavy sigh, "the throne is yours by right."

Loki stared at him, mouth falling slightly open for a moment. Wondering if he could possibly have heard correctly, he looked to his mother—but Frigga only smiled and nodded encouragingly.

Odin's lips twitched at his visible astonishment. "My son, we have only so much time," he prodded.

Hastily, Loki knelt before the throne, hoping that his frame was not shaking too much.

"Loki Odinson, do you swear to guard the Nine Realms and its inhabitants?"

He tried not to shudder at the similarity this scene bore to this afternoon. Of course, Thor's coronation had been a lively, public affair, but now there were only a few guards here as witnesses, and Loki knew that Asgard would not cheer for him.

"I swear," he said in a calm, carrying voice.

"And do you swear to cast aside all personal ambition for the good the kingdom?"

Loki swallowed hard. "I swear."

"And do you swear to protect the peace?"

_Better than Thor_, he thought darkly. "I swear it."

Odin stretched out his hand and offered the spear to him. Loki's hand closed hesitantly around the cool metal; it felt unwieldy and wrong, like the feeling of an unbalanced sword. But he would force himself to wield it all the same.

Hesitantly, he glanced up at his father to see a brief smile flicker across his face.

"I know you will make me proud, Loki."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thor dreamed he was in Jotunheim, wading through bloodstained snow._

_He twirled Mjolnir in his hand, itching for battle, and he found it: a dozen or so Jotun warriors charged out of a cave, ten feet tall with demonic red eyes. Thor laughed at the ease with which he dispatched them all. Their corpses soon lay scattered at his feet. _

_Suddenly Loki was at his side, saying eagerly, "Come on, brother. We'll finish them all, together."_

_But then Loki's skin began to shift from ivory to slate blue, and his eyes burned bright as the fires of Muspelheim. Before Thor could say anything, Loki plunged a dagger into his own breast and fell limply into Thor's arms._

_ "__No, no, no," Thor cried, but Loki only laughed._

_ "__You promised," he rasped, "we would hunt the monsters down and slay them all."_

_With a shuddering gasp, Loki's red eyes went blank._

Thor awoke with his heart pounding. He sat up, trying to reorient himself in reality. It wasn't the first nightmare he'd ever had in which he watched his brother die—far from it. But he couldn't brush this one aside like all the rest. It was as if he could still feel the wintry chill in his bones, still smell the metallic tang of blood in the air.

In the next room, Thor found a small basin that automatically filled with water when he lifted a small lever. He felt some dull surprise that such an inventive device existed on Midgard. He splashed his face with cold water and stared at his reflection, his red-rimmed, hollow eyes.

He needed to face this now; there could be no more putting the thoughts aside for later.

He forced himself to say the words aloud. "Loki is a Frost Giant…_My brother_ is a Frost Giant."

The words tasted bitter on his tongue. It all felt like an elaborate trick his brother might play on him.

And yet…the more Thor considered, the more he knew it was true. Though Thor had been a mere toddler, he had murky memories of Loki's birth, how sudden the announcement had come. He remembered Mother introducing him to a bundle of blankets, telling him _This is your new brother_, yet he could not recall anything of the queen's pregnancy, or any preparations being made for the new prince. Thor had been too young to question it at the time, of course, and he and Loki were accustomed to taking their father's word as absolute truth. But the people of Asgard must have whispered…

On top of that, there had always been something _odd_ about his little brother. He'd never resembled the rest of the family, with his black hair, lean frame, and bookish tendencies, and he had always seemed out of place. Thor had even asked, on many occasions—he recalled now with a bitter laugh—how he and Loki could possibly be related.

He realized there was dried blood lodged under his fingernails from yesterday's skirmish. His stomach turned. _This blood is closer to Loki's than my own_, he thought as he vigorously tried to scrub it out. But it was too stubborn of a stain.

Thor had to hold onto the porcelain edges of the basin to support his shaking knees. He had never given much thought to Frost Giants, certainly not as people. He had simply regarded them as a race of brutes, incapable of being civilized. They were the boogeymen in children's stories. _Behave, or the Frost Giants will come and eat you_, that sort of thing.

How could Thor reconcile that image with the brother he knew and cherished?

Nothing about Loki was consistent with what Thor had always known—had always _assumed_—about Frost Giants.

Loki could be frustrating at times, when he was aloof and withdrawn, or when his mischief crossed the line between amusing and hurtful, or when his sharp tongue found a weak spot and cut Thor where he was most vulnerable.

But he could be wonderful, too. He was much cleverer than Thor, and while he didn't always approve of Loki's underhanded methods of getting out of trouble, he had to admit they were usually ingenious. His quick wit never failed to make Thor smile. Loki was not as free with his expressions of affection as he had been when they were children—but in those rare moments of tenderness between them, Thor felt like the most important person in all the Nine Realms. As if, in that instant, Loki's approval and Loki's pride in him was all he needed.

_Never doubt that I love you_, he'd said.

His little brother was no monster.

_I must have been vastly misinformed about Jotuns, if Loki is one of them._

But this realization gave him little comfort as he stared at the blood under his nails.

* * *

Loki tried to watch the golden web of restorative magic knitting together in the air, instead of focusing on his father's inert form on the bed. He did not want to examine how much deeper the wrinkles under Odin's eyes seemed, how pale and vulnerable the ancient king was in this state. It was childish, Loki told himself, to expect his father to be omnipotent. But realizing how old and tired he truly was frightened Loki more than it should have.

Beside him, Frigga reached over and clasped Loki's hand—perhaps some of this dread was showing on his face, try though he might to remain dignified.

He broke the long silence between them with a hesitant question. "Why me?"

She looked quizzically at him.

"That is…why did Father place me on the throne? During the last Odinsleep, you acted as queen regent."

She chuckled softly. "Loki, the last time your father needed a regent, you and your brother were mere adolescents. But we both feel it is high time you and Thor were given more responsibility and practical experience."

Loki tried not to flinch at Thor's name, but his mother was not fooled. She brought his knuckles her lips and kissed them, a familiar affectionate gesture.

"This will not be for long," she assured him softly. "Your father will awaken any day, and your brother…he will return before we even have time to miss him."

"You seem very confident of that," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"I have faith, yes." She tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "Just as I have faith in you, my son."

He blinked back the moisture in his eyes: her words were like water to a man dying of thirst. But he doubted them even as he stored them greedily in his heart. _If only I could share your assurance, Mother. If only I deserved your trust. You would not say this if you knew that this entire mess is my fault._

"May I offer you some counsel, Loki?" she asked suddenly.

"Your advice would be most welcome, Mother," he replied smoothly, hiding any trace of emotion in his voice.

"Your father asked that you maintain the peace, and I believe he is right. Do not court war with Jotunheim."

He studied her curiously, wondering why her tone was so adamant, why her eyes were so tight.

"You think I should appease them instead?" he scoffed. "The people will not be thrilled with that course of action."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, you are their king, and they are sworn to obey you, not the other way around."

They exchanged smirks. But then Frigga's smile faded, and she added in a more somber tone, "Jotunheim's people cannot afford war, Loki. They do not wish for it. Laufey's thirst for revenge is not a universal sentiment, not when their realm is in ruins and their children are starving."

"You're saying wergild would be a more attractive option to them than vengeance."

Privately, Loki was relieved. Diplomacy he could manage—warfare was another matter entirely.

"I'm merely suggesting that you keep a cool head," she clarified. "The decision is yours to make, and I will stand behind you regardless…My King."

He could not suppress the faint blush that came over his cheeks when she called him that.

"Thank you for your guidance, Mother," he said, standing up to leave. "Are you retiring for the night? It's quite late."

She sighed and looked down at her husband's sleeping figure. "No…I think I will stay a while longer. Get some rest, Loki, you have a long day ahead of you."

He kissed her hand and departed.

* * *

When Thor rose in the morning, he felt more exhausted than he had the night before. The vivid dreams and heavy guilt had not helped. But he tried to feign a refreshed, cheery demeanor in order to not offend his hosts.

Jane gave him a change of clothes—Midgardian garments had evolved significantly since his last visit, he mused as he pulled on the oddly stiff blue trousers and fiddled with the fastenings.

He found himself distracted by the clunky, whirring devices on Jane's desk. Upon further inspection, Thor realized they were primitive computers. He was unfamiliar with the terminology on the screens, but he could deduce that they were tracking electromagnetic disturbances.

_How ingenious these mortals are_, he thought with a smile. _To have constructed these devices with their limited knowledge and resources…_

"Um, excuse me, don't touch that," Jane said, rushing forward to place herself between Thor and the computers, as if she were afraid he would break them.

Thor supposed she was not being entirely unreasonable—they looked rather flimsy and temperamental.

He had not yet put on the shirt that Jane had loaned him, and he felt Darcy's unembarrassed scrutiny from across the room. He smirked: he was used to that kind of look from women. What he was _not_ used to was Jane's studious avoidance, the way she kept her eyes trained on the papers in her hands.

"My good lady, as much as I do not wish to impose on you, I am in need of sustenance. Have you anything in your stores for breaking fast?"

"Uh…yeah, let me see what I've got," she said, rushing to the cupboards and rifling through the drawers.

Thor could not yet read her reaction to him: she always seemed puzzled by his words, as if his manner of speech were strange to her; and now the faint spots of pink on her cheeks and the way her hands shook suggested that she was flustered. But whether this was a good or a bad thing, Thor didn't know.

"Geez, Jane, you need to go grocery shopping," said Darcy, who was now peering over Jane's shoulder at the relatively bare cupboards.

Jane paused to give her a withering look.

From what Thor had gathered, the metal lodge and this larger building—her laboratory, she called it—belonged to Jane, which made her the lady of the house. The older man, Erik Selvig, seemed to be some sort of guardian or caretaker, but Darcy's role was confusing to Thor. Initially, he had thought she might be Jane's handmaiden, given that she claimed to assist her, but their interaction was too familiar to be that of servant and mistress.

Or perhaps Midgard's social customs had evolved so much that they were unrecognizable to Thor.

Finally, Darcy reached over Jane's shoulder and pulled out a small box. "Hey, at least you've got poptarts," she said.

Inside the metallic wrapper was a kind of pastry filled with fruit—not terribly substantial, but Thor was desperately hungry and would take anything they could offer.

_Perhaps Loki would find this fare more agreeable_, Thor mused. _He does have an insatiable sweet tooth._

But thinking about his brother, even in passing, caused Thor's heart to ache.

"I thank you for your kindness, and now I will depart," he said, trying not to sigh. Through the massive panes of glass that comprised the walls in this room, he could see the sun shimmering off the sand and glinting off the other buildings. He had better stock up on water before leaving this place.

_But where will I go?_ He wondered. _Am I to wander Midgard like a beggar?_

"Wait, hold on," said Jane, grabbing his sleeve. "If you don't have anywhere to be, would you mind staying a bit longer? I have some questions for you that I—"

For the first time that morning, Erik spoke up. He put a hand on Jane's shoulder and interrupted in an undertone, "You're not seriously pursuing this, are you?"

Jane looked back and forth between Selvig and Thor for a moment, her lips pressed together in annoyance.

"I will stay and offer what assistance I can to you," Thor told her.

"Hold that thought."

Jane dragged Selvig away toward the computers, where they started to bicker in hushed tone. Thor and Darcy awkwardly sat down at the table and began to devour the rest of the fruit tarts in silence.

They were probably trying to keep their conversation private, so Thor averted his eyes in an attempt to be polite, but it was impossible not to hear.

"…could be on the brink of _actual, observational_ evidence," Jane was saying, "for the first time in history, Erik!"

"The ravings of a madman are hardly conclusive data. Besides, you aren't actually suggesting he passed through an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, are you? Because even in theory, we both know they're too unstable—"

"_Unless_ something holds it open," Jane finished impatiently. "Something with negative energy density."

"Jane, traversable wormholes are the stuff of science fiction!" Erik was raising his voice now. "I watched your father throw away a promising career to chase his flights of fancy, but I'm not going to sit idly by while you do the same."

She stared at him in silence for a moment, shaking her head in disbelief. "My dad believed pursuing knowledge was more important than accolades," she said, her eyes flashing. "But I guess you and I have different priorities after all."

Selvig sputtered for a moment. "Jane, Jane, I'm not saying…I only mean…" He shrugged nervously. "No one's even proven this kind of exotic matter exists, yet your entire theory hinges on—"

"I'm just gathering all the data I can and examining every alternative. It's a poor scientist that discards a possibility just because it sounds too far-fetched." The spark of anger was gone from her voice, replaced by calm determination. "And if you won't help me, Erik, I understand, but you're not going to stop me."

With these words, Jane turned on her heel and disappeared into the next room, leaving Selvig alone to fidget with his hands and stare awkwardly at all the equipment. When his eyes met Thor's, they darkened.

_That man does not trust me. Perhaps he fears I will bring harm to her…_

Selvig stormed out, and from the window Thor could see him stomping off toward the desert, presumably to clear his head. When Thor looked to Darcy for her reaction, he realized she had been stuffing pieces of toasted bread in her mouth for the duration of the argument with a disinterested expression.

"They do that a lot," she said with a shrug. "I just learn to tune it out. Most of it sounds like gibberish to me anyway. It's not my major."

Thor stared at the door Jane had shut behind her; he couldn't deny the twinge of awe he felt. Such fierce resolve—she had a warrior's spirit, despite her slight form. And it was not glory she fought for, but wisdom.

"It is a bridge that she seeks," he murmured.

"Yeah, I guess. A wormhole. It's supposed to be like a shortcut through space—at least, that's how she explained it to me."

_The Bifröst! They study the Bifröst, though they do not know it yet._

For the first time in what felt like an age, a genuine smile broke across Thor's face. It seemed he had a way to repay his hosts for their kindness after all. He got up from the table and marched to the door.

"Jane Foster?" he called. "Forgive me for intruding, but I believe I may be able to help you."

He prayed that he remembered enough from his studies to answer her questions—in his youth, he had found the in-depth lessons on the subject terribly boring, and sometimes copied the answers from Loki's homework to scrape by. Hopefully what was common knowledge in Asgard would be helpful in Midgard.

* * *

So far, Loki found being king more tiresome than gratifying.

For most of the morning, supplicants came to him for judgment. He sentenced a man for tax evasion. He listened to minor nobles squabbling over their inheritance, a fishmonger and his former wife fighting over property in a divorce settlement, and most recently, a dispute regarding the rightful ownership of a goat.

Alone for a precious moment, Loki massaged his temples and basked in the silence of the throne room. He'd always liked how striking and showy his gold helmet was—how much taller and more imposing the horns made his silhouette—but it was just for ceremonial occasions, and he had never had to wear it for so long before. Right now he wanted to rip it off and throw it across the room because it was so heavy that it made his neck ache.

He had thought being crowned would change everything—that he could finally step out of Thor's long shadow. But being thrust into the spotlight had only made him more ill at ease, only magnified how _lacking_ he was.

It did not escape his notice, the wariness with which his subjects addressed him. How slow they were to bend the knee and call him "Your Majesty." The resentment and mistrust in their eyes.

Before he fell into the Odinsleep, Father had advised him not let this trouble him. _The common people care little for politics_, his father had said; _they are more concerned with having enough food on the table for their children. It does not matter if they love you, so long as you prove capable of protecting them._

Loki sighed. He knew people had always whispered about him. Liesmith, Silvertongue, they called him. The Scholar Prince, when they wished to be kind. Yet even this epithet carried an undercurrent of scorn—the son of Odin who would rather bury his nose in a book than seek out adventure, who would rather hide behind illusions and tricks than venture out into the thick of the fighting.

Later this afternoon, he was to meet with emissaries from Jotunheim. He tried to ignore the shiver of fear running through him at the prospect—he had been afraid of Frost Giants as a child, what with all the stories Thor used to tell him while they huddled under the covers late at night. But Loki would keep his head high and maintain the peace, just as Father and Mother wished. He would not be intimidated by savages, even if they were ten feet tall with the eyes of demons.

Loki knew the people thought him cowardly for trying to appease Jotunheim with wergild now. They wanted a warrior-king who would stand firm against enemies, who would accept no fault and offer no compromise.

In short, they wanted Thor. But they had Loki instead.

Without warning, the golden doors of the throne room burst open.

"All-Father, we must speak to—"

The words died on Sif's lips as she, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun simultaneously realized who was seated on the throne. The identical dumbfounded expressions were almost comical, Loki thought. Clearly, they had been so caught up in their worry over Thor's banishment that they had not even heard of his crowning.

"My friends," Loki greeted them. _That is a lie; they are Thor's friends who tolerate me._ "It seems the news has not yet reached you. My father has fallen into the Odinsleep. In the meantime, you may bring your urgent matter to me—your king."

He stood, Gungir clenched conspicuously in his hand: the enchanted spear would only obey the rightful king of Asgard. He watched them, hungry for their reactions.

"That explains where you have been," said Sif. "Keeping Thor's seat warm, are you?"

"_Sif!_" Fandral hissed, elbowing her.

It didn't surprise Loki that they felt no dread in his presence—he was just Thor's little brother, after all. Not someone to be taken seriously.

"Lo—My King," Volstagg amended quickly. "Please forgive us for being too familiar." He shot a warning look at Sif. "We are simply so overcome with concern over Prince Thor that we forget ourselves."

Volstagg's groveling was amateur flattery, but Loki allowed himself some childish satisfaction from it anyway. After all, Volstagg had condescended to him enough.

"Of course," said Loki; "I share your anxieties. Whatever matter you would bring to the All-Father, you may bring before me."

"We ask that you end Thor's banishment," said Sif. When Fandral cleared his throat uncomfortably, she added grudgingly, "My King."

Loki felt a flare of annoyance. "My brother's exile has lasted, oh, twelve hours perhaps, and already you seek to rescue him from the punishment he brought on himself?"

The warriors all exchanged glances.

He knew that their loyalty to Thor was such that they would excuse his every wrongdoing, deny his every flaw. Once, Loki had thought his brother could not make mistakes—but that was a long time ago.

Now, he looked at the bandages on Volstagg's forearm, and the way Fandral carried himself, wincing occasionally, that told Loki his wounded shoulder was still sore. Thor had led his companions into mortal danger and pushed Asgard to the brink of war, all to satisfy his own bloodlust.

"Your fraternal concern is touching, My King," Sif snapped.

It seemed that, in Thor's absence, Sif had stepped forward to fill the role of the hothead in the group. Even Hogun was looking at her mutinously now for her impertinence. Loki tried to keep his expression calmly amused, but inside he was seething. How dare she assume she was the only one that cared for Thor?

_You don't know a damned thing, Sif._

"I love Thor more dearly than any of you," he said in a low voice, "but you know what he is: he's arrogant, he's reckless, he's dangerous. You saw how he was yesterday. My father has his reasons for sending him away, and we must trust his judgment."

Perhaps it was a mistake, leaning on Father's authority, but Loki had hoped Sif at least held enough respect for Odin to remain obedient. But from the cold fury in her eyes, Loki could tell that she was already committing treason in her mind.

"First I must endeavor to undo the damage my brother has done," he told them. "The stability of Asgard is more important than Thor's immediate comfort."

"If you would just consider—" Volstagg began.

"My decision is final. You are dismissed."


	4. Chapter 4

Helping Jane with her research was not a perfectly simple task.

At least a dozen times that day, Thor berated himself for not paying more attention to his physics tutors, though it had seemed at the time that these lessons had no practical application for him.

After thinking hard for a long while, Thor managed to recall the formula he'd been forced to learn in his youth for calculating the Bifröst's velocity—thanks to the ridiculous mnemonic device Loki had come up with to help him remember for their test—but even after he had written it down for her, there was a problem. The Allspeak, it seemed, had some limitations: mathematical symbols for which there was no direct Midgardian translation. He and Jane spent several hours just trying to speak the same language on paper, which was frustrating to them both.

Worst of all, however, Thor was not certain Jane even trusted that he could help her. She listened to him intently, but with a frown that seemed to say, _I want to believe you, I want you to be the answer, but I'm just not sure._

Finally, in the late afternoon, Darcy burst into the laboratory and interrupted their collaboration.

"Jane, how many times do I have to remind you to _eat_ and to _feed people_ at normal times of the day?" she demanded.

"Oh, right," said Jane, running a hand distractedly through her hair as she continued to flip through pages of her notebook.

After some more wheedling, Darcy managed to drag Jane—and with them, Thor—to an eating establishment in the village. It was a quaint place that sold a delightful hot drink Jane called coffee, which made Thor feel brighter and more energetic. Unfortunately, it was apparently _not_ the Midgardian custom to toss one's goblet in an expression of approval, which resulted in some momentary awkwardness with the barmaid.

After that, Thor devoured his meal—a combination of beef and bread that, Darcy informed him, was inexplicably named a hamburger—in silence, not wishing to offend his hosts with behavior they might misinterpret.

At the bar across the room, two men were talking loudly, boasting and laughing at one another—not unlike any other tavern scene Thor had witnessed in Asgard, which made him smile. But it was impossible not to catch pieces of their conversation.

"…we even hitched it up to Stan's pickup, and it still didn't budge an inch. Can you believe that?"

"How come people are saying it fell from space?"

"Sitting in a big old crater in the desert, where else could it've come from?"

"What is it, then? A satellite?"

"A piece of one, maybe. It looks like a big piece of metal with a handle sticking out."

The fork slipped from Thor's numb fingers and clattered to the table, making Jane and Darcy look at him questioningly.

"The object that they have found," he explained in a low voice, "it is not what they think it is. It will never move for them, or anyone."

"Do you know what it is, then?" Darcy asked.

Thor tried to go back to his meal, but his appetite was suddenly fading. "It no longer matters," he said dully. "It's but a useless hunk of uru metal now."

Darcy grinned. "Is it your spaceship?"

"Darcy, for the last time, this isn't _The X-Files_," Jane groaned, leveling a glare at her. It sounded as if this was a continuation of an earlier argument they had had.

"I'm telling you, if he came through a wormhole, he could totally be an alien."

"I did not arrive here in a ship," Thor told them. "The 'satellite' was once a weapon—my weapon—but it will do no harm anymore. It is dormant, and will remain so."

Jane and Darcy exchanged glances, but said nothing.

A part of Thor rankled to think of strangers putting their unworthy hands on Mjolnir—but then, was he truly any different? That birthright, that identity was no longer his, he was no longer a fit companion for the hammer, and in any case, he had used it to slaughter Jotuns for sport. The thought of reclaiming it sickened him.

No, Thor could not touch Mjolnir again. He was too ashamed to wield it.

* * *

As he was ushered into an antechamber of the fortress of Utgard, Loki wished for the umpteenth time that the Jotun emissaries could have come to him instead. But since Asgard was the offending party, custom dictated that Loki must be the one to approach them with offers of reparation.

The room made Loki feel like a small child, with its vaulted ceiling from which icicles hung like stalactites, to the massive octagonal stone pillars that supported it. Because it was snowing so heavily outside, the only light came from the eerie blue flames in the braziers along the walls, which created shadows that swayed and flickered.

Loki had to summon every ounce of bravado he could just to keep his frame from shuddering.

_For Odin's sakes, you are a king, not a boy! Get a hold of yourself._

Yet it had been like this when he had accompanied Thor to Jotunheim a few days ago. Loki had stared death in the face countless times on their myriad adventures, had seen battles and fought monsters of all sorts, but it was Jotunheim that filled him with a quiet dread he couldn't explain. It was as if the snow and the wind whispered hatefully to him, as if every awful night terror he'd had as a boy were made tangible in this place.

He was thankful to be meeting today with Laufey's sons instead of the king himself. The prospect of speaking to Laufey again made Loki's blood run cold.

Still, standing across from two fully-grown Frost Giants—towering at almost twice Loki's height, their weathered blue faces and blood-red eyes fixed on him with stony expressions—was intimidating. The eldest, Helblindi, made an unexpected pretense at civility, offering Loki a seat. Feeling it would be rather undignified to sit in a chair so tall that his feet would not reach the floor, Loki declined.

"Prince Thor acted without the knowledge or consent of the All-Father," Loki assured them. "Therefore, I entreat you to regard this as a rogue incident, rather than a political—"

"Incident? Is that your euphemism for this bloodbath?" the smaller Jotun interrupted in a cutting tone.

"Peace, Byleistr," the older giant cautioned.

"How can you be calm? Their crown prince is an arrogant, ruthless brat with no concern for the wellbeing of others, and—"

Although Loki often expressed such sentiments himself, it was still always galling to hear _others_ criticizing his brother. He dug his nails into his palms to prevent himself from saying anything foolish.

"If you are incapable of civil diplomacy, I will send you out of the room, brother," Helblindi said in an undertone.

Byleistr pressed his lips together sullenly and said nothing; Helblindi's expression as he turned back to Loki was apologetic.

"I was present when the unfortunate…skirmish broke out," the older giant said. "I saw how eager Prince Thor was for battle. But I also witnessed how you tried to ease the tensions before anything could begin, King of Asgard, so I know that you, too, have some experience reigning in a more impulsive brother."

Byleistr scowled at Helblindi, but said nothing.

It nettled Loki, being compared to a Frost Giant—and some of the disgust must have shown on his face, for Helblindi dropped his gaze to the floor—but it was startling, too, to realize that their race had recognizable family dynamics, or at least some monstrous facsimile of them. He had always imagined them as brutes without strong emotional ties to one another.

"My…my point is, King of Asgard, I do not believe you wish for war any more than we do," Helblindi said gravely.

_The eldest son of Laufey is no warmongering fool, I will give him that much_, Loki thought.

He took a deep breath and smoothed his expression into a polite mask. "Then I believe we can reach some sort of mutually agreeable arrangement. Though I'm sure no material gains could atone for your, er, tragic losses"—it was a struggle to keep a note of sarcasm out of his voice—"Asgard is willing to offer restitution for the ill-advised actions of its crown prince, as a gesture of goodwill."

Byleistr raised an eyebrow skeptically, but Helblindi listened with no perceptible reaction.

"I presume gold is not of much use in your realm," Loki continued, his eyes wandering around the barren room; "perhaps grain would be a more suitable payment? Livestock?"

As Helblindi and Byleistr glanced at each other, Loki knew he had judged correctly.

"Let us discuss an amount, then," Helblindi said. "I am certain we can persuade our father."

* * *

Loki spent the remainder of the day making arrangements for exporting the wergild comprised of flocks of sheep and sacks of grain. He congratulated himself on his own cleverness—of course, appealing to primitive needs would sway such primitive creatures, and now he had solidified stronger relations with Jotunheim than Asgard had seen since the Great War. The Frost Giants might take their help grudgingly, but they would crawl to the Æsir in gratitude now, as beneficent saviors in time of famine—it was a more effective method of control than any show of force could have been.

That evening, he went to his father's bedside to recount the day's events, and to assure him that Jotunheim was no longer an immediate threat. Odin still slept under his golden web of regenerative magic, but it was said that he could continue to see and hear what was around him, even in this state, so Loki thought it appropriate to keep him informed. Perhaps he was showing off his good work a little.

Frigga listened to his report without comment—she had not left Odin's side since he retired to this room. Loki was not even certain she was paying much attention, because her eyes were far away as he spoke.

After a few moments of pensive silence, however, she asked him suddenly, "What were they like, the sons of Laufey?"

He frowned, disconcerted by the question: it was almost as if she knew the strange dread those creatures filled him with.

"The eldest, I believe, wishes for an alliance, but the younger seems…less inclined to diplomacy." His wry smile made it clear that this was an understatement.

Frigga nodded thoughtfully. "I am glad that this situation has been an opportunity for benefit to both realms. You did well, my son."

As satisfied as he was with the outcome of his first real political challenge, he was mostly relieved that he would not have to face another pair of those gleaming red eyes anytime soon.

"Well,_ I_ am relieved that all this nonsense is finished," Loki sighed, resting his head on his hands. "This has been a great deal of fuss over just a few dead monsters—and we all know what a great tragedy _that_ is."

"Loki, that kind of talk is beneath you."

Her sharp tone made him look up—Frigga's face was pale, her hands clenched on the silk coverlet of Odin's bed, as if he had said something deeply upsetting to her.

"Forgive me if that was crude," Loki said slowly, confused. "I know you have great compassion even for the basest of creatures, Mother, but—"

"I am perfectly serious," said Frigga. "I don't want to hear you saying such things again. Not in front of me."

Tentatively, he reached over and took her hand. "I'm sorry if I offended you, Mother. Truly."

He felt a swell of relief when she placed her other hand over his and smiled faintly at him—he was forgiven, then.

"I know this is hard for you to understand, because we have been at war with Jotunheim since before you were born," she said softly, "but things were not always this way. I pray things are about to change."

The way she spoke, it was as if there was some undisclosed sorrow in her heart, some pain she would not share with him—for the first time since Loki was a child, he felt conscious of some barrier between them. It was unfair to resent her for her secrets, however, when he was keeping one from her as well. _Thor's banishment is my fault—partly my fault_, he wanted to say. _Now will you unburden your mind, Mother?_

But instead, he bid her goodnight and left her, for he had one last errand tonight.

* * *

When Loki entered the Bifröst Observatory, Heimdall's back was to him, standing stately and vigilant: Loki's stealth, as usual, was useless, for it seemed he was expected.

"My prince," the guardian greeted him, without taking his luminescent eyes from the stars. Heimdall had an inexplicable way of never seeming surprised at anything—even when Loki was just a boy sneaking into the Observatory for a glimpse of the universe, he was never fooled any of the prince's disguises or diversions.

Loki chose to ignore Heimdall's epithet, though he bristled at it, because he was tired of correcting people. No one could see him as a king.

He stood beside Heimdall and watched the swirling nebulae with him; he recognized some of the constellations from his childhood, when he and Thor would make up fables about the constellations. That long strip of stars, that seemed to writhe across the sky like a gigantic snake, they had called Jormungand, the mighty serpent that could wrap itself around the world and put its tail in its mouth. Loki had invented all sorts of creatures like that, and Thor would create heroic foes for them.

It was a silly memory to make Loki's eyes sting. Surely he did not _miss_ the great oaf already—was he not enjoying the peace and quiet of Thor's absence?

"How does he fare?" he asked in the most offhand tone he could manage. "The All-Mother refuses to leave the king's side, yet she frets for her firstborn, so I wish to set her mind at ease."

Heimdall's lips twitched as he glanced sidelong at Loki. "Of course, my prince. You may assure the queen that Prince Thor has found friends on Midgard, who have given him food and shelter."

"Ah." Loki kept his voice light and pleasant with some difficulty. "Well, she will be relieved to hear that."

"And your mother may also wish to know," Heimdall added, turning towards him at last, "that, although he accepts his exile as gracefully as he can, Prince Thor longs for his family."

Heimdall's knowing smirk made Loki color somewhat. He kept silent watch with the gatekeeper's for some minutes, trying to imagine what it was that it was that Heimdall could see.

_Is Thor thinking of me at all?_

* * *

It was late. Thor crept outside, trying not to wake his hosts, hoping that the cool night air would help to clear his troubled mind. But he soon realized that he was not alone. Jane Foster was sitting in a canvas chair, curled up underneath a thin jacket, her face turned up toward the stars. At Thor's approach, she sat up in a more dignified posture.

"Forgive me, I did not wish to disturb you," Thor murmured. "Has my presence displaced you from your lodgings?"

"No, no, I just couldn't sleep," she assured him. "I come out here a lot when I've got stuff on my mind. It helps me think."

Thor looked at the sky with her, but he knew it wouldn't bring him the same comfort it did her. Asgard was billions of light-years from here, and logically he knew none of the stars in this sky was _home_—yet the pinpricks of light seemed to beckon him. He swallowed back the lump in his throat.

But Jane continued, "Sometimes when I get stuck on a problem, or when Darcy's driving me crazy, I sit out here for a minute to remind myself why I'm doing this in the first place. Why it's all worth it."

Her brown eyes shone with wonder as she gazed upward. She shivered a little in the night air, so Thor took the blanket from his shoulders and draped it over her.

"So, what about you? Why can't you sleep?" she asked. "It's the bed, isn't it? I'm sorry, it's so uncomfortable I know—"

"Not at all. The only discomfort was the unrest in my own mind."

She shifted in her seat to focus her attention on him now. "Do you…I mean, if you don't want to talk about whatever you're running away from, I understand. You don't even know me. But sometimes that actually helps, so if you want to, I don't mind."

Thor smiled weakly. "Your offer is most kind, Jane Foster. I simply would not know where to begin."

"You said your dad kicked you out of the house, right?"

"That is an apt way of describing it, yes."

"And now you're homesick?"

Thor bowed his head. "I've no right to be. My father's act was just, after what I…" His face crumpled. He could not force the words out.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—" Jane began.

"No, it's alright. You have given me shelter, and you deserve to know the kind of man you are giving refuge to." He smiled halfheartedly. "Where I come from, it is customary for guests to repay their hosts by entertaining them with stories. But I'm afraid my own story is one that sickens me to tell."

There was a moment of awkward silence. Jane bit her lip, as if uncertain whether to prod him or let it go.

"Earlier you said you had a brother," she said hesitantly. She probably thought this was a change of subject to a more palatable one.

"His name is Loki," Thor said softly.

She must have heard the pain in his voice. "And now you're in a fight or something?"

"No. At least, I have no wish to be. He…doesn't know that I have wronged him, but I fear keeping him ignorant of it is even worse."

Jane shrugged. "I don't have any siblings myself, so I don't know what that's like," she said. "But I never had a very close relationship with my mom. She and my dad got divorced when I was a kid, so I didn't see much of her except every other weekend. A lot of things went unsaid between us—we barely even talked when I was in college—and I regretted that later. So personally, I think it would be better to tell him what's wrong, even if it's hard, because that's when you can start to fix things between you."

Thor sighed, considering this. "Alas, I cannot. It involves a family secret which is not mine to divulge. I feel it is unwise to keep it, but my father has his reasons, and I cannot disobey him."

"Hmm. Well then, I'm sorry, but I don't have any other answers for you."

They sat together in silence for a moment.

Shaking his head sadly, Thor said, "So many things I thought I understood—so many things I took for granted as truth—now I find I've had it all wrong. And I don't really know anything at all."

Jane chewed on her bottom lip. "Well…I don't know your situation, or you, very well. But I think maybe it's not such a bad thing to admit what you don't understand. That's the first step to actually learning something new."

Thor searched her face curiously. Jane was a mortal woman—her lifespan was like that of a mayfly next to his own—so how could she have had the time to become wise? He was accustomed to thinking of Midgardians almost as children—simpler, more vulnerable creatures that need guidance and protection. He never thought a mortal had any help to give him.

"You are not what I expected at all from your people," he admitted. "You see things more clearly than I do, Jane Foster."

She blushed a little, but then she shook her head. "You talk like we're a different species or something," she laughed.

Thor said nothing. Jane already thought him strange enough, and it seemed Midgard was completely unaware of the eight other realms. Instead, he moved closer to her shivering form so that she could benefit from his warmth, and returned his gaze to the stars.


End file.
